


Strangers

by Sheena_Stalwart



Series: Dark Tom Holland One Shots [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction, tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Danger, Driving, F/M, Roleplay, Sex, Smut, reckless, tied-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheena_Stalwart/pseuds/Sheena_Stalwart
Summary: A very dark and dirty Tom Holland one shot! Inspired largely by William Control's aesthetic.





	Strangers

Out on Hollywood Boulevard, you pace along the sidewalk outside of a pub. The heels of your boots clack along the pavement. You take a deep breath and your chest feels tight, like your breathing through a straw.

 

A black Mazda RX-8 rolls up to the sidewalk. Shit you haven’t seen one of those in a while. What a pretty little thing. It’s absurd that those beauties got discontinued. You remember the speed like it was yesterday. That souped up engine, the smell of hot leather seats baking in the summer sun, and the back seat… oh the things that happened there too.

 

But this wasn’t that car. No. That car was long gone. Sold for textbooks or some stupid shit like that. The man that was now rolling down his window wasn’t that same boy either. And this license plate says California…

 

The man’s gaze lingers on the patent leather boots. He licks his lips. His eyes move lazily up your body, taking in the sights inch by inch.

 

“You look lost, darling…” he says.

 

Nevermind- centimeter by centimeter.

 

He has a British accent.

 

You move towards the car door. You lean into the open window, resting your arms on the frame. You look deep into his brown eyes. A glimmer of danger flickers in them. You look around the interior of the car. He has black leather seats too. No lime green, nylon, 4-point racing seat belt though… just the standard issue ones. What an amateur, you thought. But it's still such a pretty car.

 

“I need a ride…” you finally say back, making an effort to put on a good pout.

 

“Get in,” it’s a demand, not a question.

 

You slam the car door shut and buckle up. An old memory flickers in your mind like a candle you thought you snuffed out. A shadow of yourself nearly reaches for the glovebox. An old habit almost sprung to life by the familiar interior. For a split second, you were nearly certain that you would find his driving gloves in there. That he would ask you to hand them to him.

“Could you do me a favor, love?” he asks. “Could you hand me my gloves... they’re in the glovebox right in front of you.”

 

You are completely stunned for a moment. Your finger hooks around the latch and the compartment flies open. A pair of driving gloves give off a glossy shine from the street light. The leather is soft and smells new. A quick visual inspection suggests that they were a recent purchase. No signs of wear and tear at all. They’re big too.

 

You hand them to him and he puts them on. Stretching and curling his fingers compulsively before taking hold of the wheel again. They were definitely new. No stress marks in the knuckles, still tight against the curve of the man’s hands. He shifts into gear and continues down the Boulevard. It’s a stick. So at least he got that part right.

 

“I never told you where I needed to go…” you say a little suspiciously.

 

“You said you ‘needed a ride’...” a smirk came to his face, “You said nothing about a destination...”

 

“And who are you, exactly?” you finally remember to ask.

 

“Who do you want me to be?” he shot you a devilish glance as he took to the highway.

 

You opened your mouth as if to say something but no words came out. You quickly looked away and out the window. Unsure of how to respond. You watched the palm trees pass and the shiny, sinful city of LA fade further and further behind you. The full moon illuminating the dark, cloudless sky.

 

He murmurs almost inaudibly in the prolonged silence, “... do you want me to be him…”

 

You turn your shoulders completely away from him. Focusing on the horizon.  The silhouette of the mountains tower ominously. You almost forgot that there is life beyond them. A past, a part of you, that remains on the other side. For the past year and a half, your whole world has been between this side of the mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Never once revisiting even the memory of those high school days or that summer.

 

You can’t even face him. You remain looking out the window and let your eyes trace along the ragged tops of the mountains. “Don’t say that… don’t ruin this... “you say softly into the glass of the window, “You know what he did… I obviously don’t want that...”

 

“Then who do you want me to be, love?” his demeanor softens. You feel his gloved hand rub your knee affectionately.

 

You pull your knee away and shoot him a sharp look. He his face contorts in confusion.

 “Why don’t you be yourself… _STRANGER_ …” you smile at him in a recovery mode of seduction. “Watch those hands while you’re at it!” you continue to tease.

 

He smiles as both hands return to the wheel.

 

“Well, you see, darling. I’m Tom Holland. I’m a movie star and kind of a big deal.” He flashes that winning smile.

 

“Oh, really? - Well, I’ve never heard of you…” you say curtly and look out the window with a mock disinterest.

 

“And who are you?” he asks with a mock sneer.

 

“You don’t need to know... at least not for the purposes I’m using you for…” you reply still looking away with a hint of sass.

 

“Alright then.”

 

He exits the highway.

 

You take to the winding, hilly, back roads. He rolls all the windows down.

 

“You’re gonna wanna hold on…” He says with a mischievous smile. You roll your eyes. He’s the one that’s going to be sorry he’s without the 4- point seat belt… because he can’t ‘hold on’ and drive at the same time.

 

You assume the position. Left arm across your body, hooked into the door. Right hand grips the ‘oh shit’ strap above you. You lean back against the headrest.

 

The engine roars as he kicks into the top gear. Full speed down one of the mountains. A twisted and curvy road. Hairpins and corkscrews galore. Inaccuracy would likely result in a smashed-up, ugly tumble to your death. Your life was in his hands. You were fully at his mercy. You held your breath like you always did, each turn was a possible fate, an invitation to meet your end.

 

You glance at the speedometer and let out a wild laugh.

 

“Something funny?” He shouts over the deafening wind.

 

“65!? Amateur!”

 

You reach the bottom of the mountain and there’s a stretch of straight, flat road. He punches the gas and the car nearly rears up in response. The red needle climbs up the gauge. 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100.

 

You can feel the g-forces pressing on your cheeks. So strong you can barely keep your eyes open. They water involuntarily from the rush of air. You can barely breath. The car rattles with wind resistance. Yep, that’s the feeling you remember. You feel like your heart could explode right there and then from the flood of adrenaline. Headlights approach in the distance and he eases into the brake. You jolt forward from inertia. The seat belt catches you hard in the chest knocking out what little air you had left in your lungs. You start to slide under the seat belt from the slippery leather. Your death grip on the door is the only thing that prevents you from falling into the space under the dashboard. The sound of wind dies down and it’s replaced by the sound of blood roaring in your ears.

 

Tom lets out a relieved breath as the car settles into the proper speed limit and the approaching car passes without collision.

 

You gasp, deep, recovering breaths and carefully wipe the water from your eyes so you don’t ruin your makeup.

 

You look to the driver. His face is flushed, his breathing tight, his eyes widened like he’s seen a ghost.  

 

“Are you okay there?” You ask earnestly.

 

He nods but his hands still have a death grip on the wheel. His knuckles look like they’re going to burst out of the gloves.

 

“Tim? Was it?” You say sarcastically, “I guess you’re not stunt driver then, huh?”

 

He laughs softly, coming back into character.

 

“It’s Tom, darling. And when I’m done with you, that’s the only word you’re going to remember…” A confident smile returns to his face.

 

He continues along the back roads until he reaches a lookout spot that oversees the Pacific.

 

He thrusts the car into park.

 

“Get out,” he commands.

 

“Are you gonna push me off the bluff, Todd?” you smirk at your deliberate insolence.

 

He laughs like he’s seen the deepest ring of hell and this weak insinuation of murder is simply amusing. He gets out of the car slams the door shut. He waits for you to follow suit. But you don’t. You stare him down through the windshield. You weren’t gonna make this easy for him. You could stare him down all night if he wants. He opens your door in a huff.

“Well, I was wondering when you’d finally open the door for me…” you say facetiously. You unbuckle and he rips you out of the car by your wrist.

 

“Little brat,” he spits, still gripping your wrist as he kicks the door shut. You stumble a little on the loose gravel underfoot. He rams you against the car, taking hold of your other wrist in the process. He pierces your soul with his glare.

 

You gulp, but challenge yourself to not look away from his intense gaze. A feeling in your chest starts to surge. Who was this man, again? Who was he really? He’s one of the most fantastic actors you’ve ever seen. But this. Here. Right now. Was this a really convincing act? Or was this something darker? Was this some deep down, dirty desire. His inner id coming to the surface, camouflaged as pretend. Your heart is in somersaults. What if this was really Tom? What if that sweet, goofy guy you knew was the act? In the middle of rural California, in the dry summer night’s air, all alone- absolutely anything seemed true in the moment. Fear in the back of your mind starts sparking like steel striking flint. What if he does hurt you? What if the man you know is far gone? Unreachable? Unable to be reasoned with?

 

 It was all pretend… but what if it wasn’t. Maybe he really is a stranger. Unpredictable.

 

You push against his grip but your wrists remain pinned to the car.

 

“I don’t think so, sweetheart…” he says with a sinister smile.

 

“Well what do you want…” you whisper.

 

“It’s not about what I want… it’s about what I need…” he says as he searches you over with his eyes like prized piece of meat. You look away from him and let out a laugh.

 

“Are you laughing at me?” he says scary quiet, pressing his body to yours, his face close to your ear, “You’re going to pay for that…”

 

You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your neck. Distracted for only a moment and he turns you around, hands behind your back, pressed to the car. He bites your neck and grabs your ass. He inhales deeply through his nose like he’s doing a line and you’re the coke. He spanks you then turns you back around swiftly. He presses a hard kiss to your mouth.

 

The next thing you know your wrists are being bound with rope. You see a glimmer of malice in his eyes before it all goes black and you’re blindfolded. You gasp with surprise.

 

Immediately, he gives your cheek a tender kiss and holds your rope-bound hands.

 

And he whispers in your ear, “Is this too much?” with a genuine and sweet voice.

 

There he is. There’s your man.

 

You smile, “Keep going… TOBY!”

 

You could hear him take a steep breath. He was hilariously incensed by this misnomer. He plops you back into the passenger seat of the car. He buckles you and slams the door shut. You hear his door open and the engine turns over. The rope itches and pinches as your wrists rotate testing their integrity. He did a damn good job. Whoever taught him knots on the set of In the Heart of the Sea, gets two thumbs up from you.

 

You lose your bearings quickly during the car ride. You have no idea where you are or where you are going. You’re at his mercy once again.

 

The car slows, then parks.

 

“Stay here,” he says… but it’s not like you were planning on scrambling away. You hear the door shut and the locks click.

 

A moment later hear the car unlock. He opens the door, unbuckles you, pulls you out and over his shoulder like cargo.

 

Now, hanging upside down, you are even more disoriented and he spins you around a few times just for good measure. A maniacal laughter escapes from his lips. You hear him fidget with a lock in the hand that isn’t holding you. You hear the swollen door frame give way to Tom’s firm push. The metal piece of the threshold screeches when he steps on it and enters the room. He kicks the door shut. You hear the mechanical clink of the deadbolt and the jingle of a lock chain. You hear a muffled scrape, like a wooden chair being dragged on a low pile carpet. Suddenly, you are placed into a seated position. And yep. That was a wooden chair. He rips the blindfold off and your eyes adjust from pitch black to a dim, soft yellow lighting. You look around eager to see where you are. It’s a shitty motel room. At your best guess, it was built sometime in the 70’s. It still has wood paneling. The floor is visibly uneven and bumpy.

 

He fastens your ankles to the legs of the chair.

 

“Where have you been?” you ask with an eagerness. You look down at your wrists. They’re swelling with rope burn and pink little scrape marks.

 

“I picked you up to set you free. It’s just your body I’m stealing.” He looks up at you with hungry eyes. He pries down your skirt so that it dangles around your bound feet. He presses two fingers in between your legs. And you open your knees as far as the ropes would allow, inviting him in.

 

“So wet already… such a dirty little girl…” he looks you in the eyes, a curl falls onto his forehead.

 

He traces your lips with his fingers before pressing them into your mouth. You gladly take them in. Sucking and swirling your tongue around them. He closes his eyes, taken by lust. But then you bite down. Hard. And he quickly retracts his hand from your mouth.

 

“Such a feisty little one… aren’t you?” he says shaking out his hand. He inspects it. You can see the imprint of your bite is still present but no skin was broken. “I ought to take the piss out of you for that,” he coos.

 

His hand grabs you firmly by the jaw and he forces your face close to his. “But I’m afraid you’ll like that too much…” he says and releases his hold. He starts rubbing his fingers against the wetness of your panties once again.

 

You moan, “If you’re afraid I’ll like your punishment, then why are you doing this?”

 

“Because, it will be more devastating when I stop…” and with that he pulls his hand away and you desperately yearn for his fingers to come back.

 

You pout as he stands back taking in the sight of you. You notice the bulge in his jeans and stare at it longingly waiting for him to notice. He walks closer to you and you reach for the button of his pants. You struggle to get them undone with your bound hands but damnit you manage. He steps out of his pants and rips off his shirt. The sight is mouthwatering. He pulls his dick out of his boxers and slaps you gently on the cheek with it.

 

“Is this what you want…” he grunts teasingly. You stick your tongue out and he rubs the head of his dick against it as he starts to beat his meat. You take him into your mouth. His fingers grip into your hair as he groans. You look up at him with doe eyes and innocence and he starts to get lost in the moment. Thrusting in and out rhythmically but hesitant. He doesn’t want to push too far. He knows he’d never hear the end of it if he gagged you like this. Saliva seeps out of the corners of your mouth and for the second time tonight your eyes start to water. He’s starting to get a little too carried away. So, you tap his thigh with your bound hands and he pulls out and steps back.

 

“...Oh, I’m sorry, love… I guess you can’t say the safe word with your mouth full...” he whispers.

 

It’s ‘pineapple’, by the way. And it’s a great safe word.

 

He kneels beside you and wipes the tears off your face. With your face in his hands, he gives you a sweet kiss on each cheek.

 

“Do you need a minute?” He asks softly.

 

You swallow all the extra saliva and say, “I’m doing just fine, Ted…” with a cheeky smile.

 

He cuts the ropes that bind your ankles to the chair legs and then throws you onto the bed. He climbs on top of you, doing away with his boxers. He cuts your handcuffs and takes off your top.

 

“No bra tonight… you naughty little girl,” he snarls.

 

Your wrists feel sore and raw with slight bruising. Tom grabs you by them but notices your wince on contact. A flash of concern strikes his face. For a moment, he just kisses your cheek and massages the sore area.

 

“I’m sorry, darling…” he mumbles apologetically into your ear.

 

You kiss him back, “Don’t be… it was fun…”

 

“Do you want me to stop?”

 

“No!” You shout and smiles brightly.

 

He rips off your underwear and goes to town with his lips. Flicking his tongue, sucking and driving you crazy.

 

“FuckmeFuckmeFuckmeFuckme…” comes spilling out of your mouth like an incantation.

 

He lifts his head up and his eyes meet yours. He holds your gaze as he slips his fingers inside of you. His stare is brutal, almost vacant look as he finger-blasts you. Watching you flounder helplessly at his contact.

 

He gets you close, then abruptly stops. He pulls fingers out and they shine with a lubrication in the muted lighting. He massages the substance between his fingers, looking quite amused at what he’s done to you.

 

You prop yourself up on your elbows. How can you ignite Tom? Really get under his skin. Make the animal come out. Give him no choice but to thrust into you and shut you up.

 

“Wow, this is a pretty weak kidnapping… if that’s even what this is… You know, I’ve always fantasized about that Spider-Man guy…” you start.

 

This peaks Tom’s interest and he looks at you expectantly.

 

You continue, “I can’t remember his name… what was it? … OH- Andrew Garfield! That’s it! He would’ve shown me who’s boss by now!”

 

Bingo.

 

Tom pins you back down with renewed vigor and clamps a hand around your throat. He speaks in a firm, low tone into your ear, “I’m Spider-Man now. And you’re going to learn your place if you want to cum.”

 

To your surprise, he whisks you off the bed. He throws you forcefully against the wall and a poorly hung picture crashes to the ground. One hand supports you, as he presses inside and nails you into the wall. His other hand holds your neck against the wall. A punishment. No biting for you. Perspiration gathers on his chest. You want to nip at his broad shoulders, taste the salt on his skin, feel the resistance of his flesh against the pressure.

 

He removes the hand from your neck to support you with both arms as he lays into you harder and faster. His head falls into the crook of your neck and you can feel the ecstasy of his panting breaths. His teeth graze your skin and it gives you goosebumps.

 

You start to enter the range of floozy, high-pitched breathing.

 

“Say my name, or I won’t let you cum!” he roars.

 

Your sassy mind for a split second goes to place where you want to fuck with him and say ‘Andrew’ but the pressure building in your loins is almost unbearable. You need to release.

 

“Tom! It’s Tom! It’s Tom!” You scream in fit of undignified squirms.

 

“And who is the best Spider-Man?”

 

“You! It’s always been you! Tom! Thomas Stanley Holland! Let me cum! Please!”

 

You feel him smile against your neck and he rubs you into euphoria. For good measure, you keep chanting his name as you release in toe-curling bliss. And of course, being a bit full of it at the time. The sound of his name rattling off your lips as you collapse in his arms sends him over the edge.

 

He puts you down. You both wipe off on the motel towels and crash onto the bed. Still in a sweaty heap.

 

Tom is the first to break the silence, “I’m just letting you know right now that I am never driving like that for you ever again… That was terrifying… You are too precious to me… I am never going to put you in danger like that again…”

It sinks into your heart. The best part of tonight. It was all just a game. Tom wasn’t out to hurt you. What a terrible mistake it would have been for Tom to pretend to be _him_. Tom is more of a man than he will ever be. Tom doesn’t feel the need to put you down to make himself feel better. He isn’t too cowardly to care about your safety or worry for his own. Tom’s a real man, not because he can fuck your brains out, but because he isn’t afraid to have moments of weakness.

 

After a moment of quiet you finally ask, “Where did you get that car?”

 

“Well, it took a while but I finally found a nice one for sale with the right color and interior… I had to ship it in from Alabama… it was a whole mess...”

 

“Wait. So, you bought it…” you say as you pick up your head with surprise.

 

“Yes… It’s for you…”

 

“Really?” you ask with disbelief.

 

Tom wraps you in his big strong arms and you rest your head on his chest.

 

“Yes. Really. Happy anniversary, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Never drive recklessly as I have described. It's not worth your life. If someone drives like that with you in the car. That person doesn't care about you. I wish I knew that sooner.


End file.
